Hetalia of Oz
by skytiger859
Summary: After sleeping through a tornado, Italy finds himself in the middle of the land of Oz with Sealand munchkins and Hungary the good witch. Clumsy as ever, his house landed on China, the rip-off artist witch of the east. Boy, is France, the witch of the west, going to be mad!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Italy huffed as he ran home. Looking up, he noticed the yellow clouds becoming thicker. Pooky purred and kneaded his hair, bouncing up and down as Italy sprinted. "Don't make me search for you again, Pooky," he reprimanded the cat through his gasps for breath. "The tornado will hit any minute. Germany said so."

"Meow," answered Pooky. Italy ran with all his might, and soon arrived at his home. "Whew!" he sighed as he trudged in the door. "I need a siesta." He slowly walked to his bedroom and dropped on the bed, sound asleep in minutes. Pooky curled up on his chest, and neither one woke, despite the tornado raging outside.

"Ve…" Italy mumbled between his snores. As usual, he was dreaming about pasta. "Pasta, come back!" he cried in his sleep, as the pasta was floating away. He floated quickly after it, but to no avail; it kept eluding him. Thump! Down Italy went, and the pasta still floating away. Pooky, who had woken up after the thump, now began batting Italy on the face. "Wha-?" Italy said, waking up, too. "Meow! Meow!" Pooky pranced about on Italy's chest and stomach.

"Ouch! Cut it out. Okay, okay, I'm getting up!" Italy sat up and looked out the window. "What?" he said. "That isn't my yard…" rather than the familiar sights of his yard, what met his eyes outside was bright green grass and colorful fruit trees, intersected by a wide yellow road paved with bricks.

"Hello!" a cheerful face popped up in the window, startling Italy.

"Ack!" Italy shrieked and jumped backwards.

"I'm Sealand!" the cheerful face declared. "I'm Sealand too!" said another cheerful face, also looking in the window. "Come on out!" said a third Sealand.

Italy went to his front door and opened it, and was greeted by an odd-looking machine that was constantly spitting out Sealands. "Thank you, mister!" they all said, running up to him. "You killed the witch of the east!"

"Huh?" Italy said. "I couldn't have done that, I just woke up."

"You dropped your house on him, you did!" said one of the many Sealands.

Italy looked down, noticing a familiar pair of feet. "Isn't that China?" Italy asked.

"Uh-huh," said Sealand. "His workers went on strike and he couldn't produce anything, so he ripped a cloning machine off of Japan and wanted to make us work for him. We didn't want to, so we're real grateful, mister."

"You mind if I turn it off?" Italy asked.

"Sure, go ahead," they agreed. Italy made his way through the sea of Sealands and switched off the machine.

"Hey, look!" shouted a Sealand. Italy turned around to face a flying pink frying pan.

"What?" Italy said to himself. "Did I eat some bad pizza or something?" Italy laughed at himself a little; unless Britain made it, there was no such thing as a bad pizza.

_Pop!_ The skillet exploded into pink sparks which floated for a moment, then grew closer together. They formed the shape of a young woman. She glowed pink for a moment, then the pink dulled and became Miss Hungary. "Miss Hungary!" Italy cried happily, running to her. "Do you know where I am? I've never seen this place."

"You're in Oz, Italy," answered Miss Hungary.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Oz?" Italy gasped. "Where's that? Where am I? Why are you here?"

"Hey, hey, calm down," Miss Hungary said, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a smile that he'd always found comforting while they lived in the same house. "I'm the good witch, Italy," she said. "You just destroyed China, the copyright infringement witch of the east."

"I know, the Sealands told me," replied Italy. "But what do I do now? How do I get back home?"

"You're going to have to talk to the wizard on that one," answered Miss Hungary with and unsure look on her face. "He might help you, he might not. But there's no harm in trying, right?"

"I guess not. Who is he?"

"No one really knows. Those that have seen him say that he is huge, and he comes in the shape of a rabbit."

"A rabbit?" now Italy was _sure_ he'd eaten some bad pizza.

"Yes; a mint green bunny-rabbit with wings."

Italy wondered why that sounded so familiar, but said nothing about it. "So how do I find him?" he said.

"For crying out loud, Italy!" shouted a Sealand. "Haven't you ever seen the movie?"

"Shush, shush!" Miss Hungary commanded. "It belongs to America, and he loves to sue people, so shush."

The Sealands sulked and milled around. "Now, Italy," Miss Hungary said. "See this yellow street here?" she gestured to the brick path.

"Russia could see it from space," Italy mumbled, making Hungary giggle.

"Well, all you have to do is follow it, and you'll eventually come by the wizard."

"Okay." Italy lifted his foot to the path.

_Crash! Boom!_ Italy, Hungary and the Sealands all ducked.

"What happened here?" said a familiar voice. "What happened to China? Well, tell me, you black lambs of Europe!"

Black lambs? The same voice sang a taunting song in Italy's mind. _Black sheep of Europe, black sheep of Europe!_

"France?" Italy cried, standing up.

"Ah, little Italy!" France said, walking over in an almost menacing manner.

"What are you doing here?" Italy asked.

"I might be asking you the same question," Franc e looked angrily at him.

Italy looked France over. He wore a black robe, open, and two witch's hats. One hat covered the top of his head and the other just barely kept him from flashing everybody. France looked Italy up and down, and, while Italy didn't notice it, the second hat stood straight.

"Uh, France," Italy stammered. "Is something wrong?"

"You only crushed China with a house!" whined France. "You know how badly I wanted China to live in my house."

"Not all of China," piped a spunky Sealand. "Just the vital region."

France smirked at the Sealand who spoke. "That's all I need," said France. He turned around to face Hungary's skillet waving inches from his nose.

France's heart fearfully skipped a beat, as he remembered how badly Hungary had beaten Prussia when he invaded Austria.

He tried to compose himself, all at the same time trying to bend backward to avoid Hungary's frying pan. "Sealand said it all. Vital region is all I need."

Pooky's hair stood on end as he growled at France. "Go away," said Hungary, still brandishing her kitchen ware. "Fine," said France. "But now I'm going to occupy his house! Adieu!"

With a poof, a puff of smoke and a weird smell, France disappeared.

"Why does he want to occupy China's house?" Italy asked Hungary.

"He's always been a perv," Hungary growled. "You should have seen the way he drooled over Mr. Austria, and Spain can tell you how crazy he went for Romano."

"What did France want with Romano? He's barely any older than me and we're both so small." Italy was confused and creeped out at the same time, a feeling that only France could ever give him.

"France is a weird one," Miss Hungary sighed. "He and Prussia certainly have a lot in common, though."

Italy noted the gleam in Miss Hungary's eye, but said nothing about it.

"Anyway," Hungary continued. "You'd better be careful. Once you're out of Oz and back home, you're safe from the witch. You and your sweet cat should hurry. Continue down this path and you should arrive at the wizard's house." Hungary gesture to the yellow street and slowly vanished at the last minute, Italy caught her wink and smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Italy placed his foot on the yellow path and began to walk. As he slowly made his way down it, the many Sealands lined themselves along the sides of the path. "We're real grateful!" said one. "Go get 'em!" said another. As Italy passed them, each one shouted praise to him. Sometimes they'd repeat themselves, but as they were technically the same person, Italy understood why. Where he would have drawn the line was if they started singing, but thankfully they didn't do that. Soon, Italy passed all of the Sealands and was now walking down the path alone.

On his right lay a grassy hill, and to his left stood rows of corn, tall and green in a fertile field. Italy had lost track of both time and his thoughts. He thought of Romano, his brother back home. What would his grumpy sibling do when he got home and found Italy- and their house- missing? As they often did, his thoughts also wandered to Germany. Italy had unified with his brother, so he didn't live in Germany's house anymore, but Italy would still pop over for a visit pretty often. Was Germany okay? Oddly enough, when he thought about Germany and Romano at the same time, he realized he thought of them differently. He wondered why, and nearly stumbled onto an answer, but his thoughts were interrupted when he saw a scarecrow standing in the middle of the cornfield. Pooky, who had been behaving well for the past hour or so, now jumped down off of his shoulder and ran into the cornfield.

"Pooky!" Italy yelled, running after him. "Not again!" Italy tried to keep up, but the cat quickly lost him in the many corn plants. Italy, now closer to the scarecrow, decided to take a look at it, hoping Pooky would be nearby and come back to him. As he approached, the scarecrow's face became more and more familiar to him. He had seen this face before. But where?

"Dude," said the scarecrow suddenly. With a yelp, Italy jumped. "Was that your cat?"

"A brown one?" answered Italy.

"Yeah," replied the scarecrow.

"Yes, he was. Where is he? Where did you see him?"

"He's not too far; he pissed on my pole."

Italy resisted the urge to laugh. "What's your name?" he asked instead.

"I'm America," answered the scarecrow.

"Hi, America! I'm Italy!"

"I know," answered the scarecrow. "Your food is awesome, by the way, dude."

"Wow! Thanks! Germany gets mad when I cook too much and make the kitchen a mess, but he seems to like my food, too. Maybe you guys could be friends!"

"Uh… we had a falling out back in the 40's," the scarecrow said carefully.

"Oh, right," remembered Italy.

"Listen dude," said America. "Think you could help me get down from here? This pole really hurts my back, and there's a splinter in my butt that I haven't been able to reach for days."

"Sure thing!" Italy said. "But could you help me look for Pooky?"

"No problem. He's probably in the patch where the wild catnip is growing."

"Okay. How do I get you down?"

"There's a spike in the back. Just pull it out and I'll come down."

"Okay…" Italy yanked the spike, and, sure enough, down came America with a crash.

"Ouch," he muttered, standing up. He reached behind him and pulled out the splinter. "That's better," he said happily, rubbing his sore bottom.

They made their way across the field to the catnip, where, as America had predicted, Pooky lay rolling around in the fallen leaves.

"Wow," said Italy. "You must be real smart to have known where he went!"

"I just know my field," said America sadly. "I want to be smart, but I can't be."

"Why not?" Italy asked.

"Well…" America's eyes glistened with sadness. "I'm only a scarecrow, so I don't have a brain. My head is just filled with straw."

Italy placed a hand on America's shoulder. "Hey," he said, getting an idea. "You helped me find Pooky, so I'll help you. Why don't you come with me?"

"That depends on where you're going; I mean, I still have a field to look after."

"I'm far away from home, so I'm going to see a wizard for some help. Maybe he can do something for you."

"You really think he'd help me?" said America excitedly, the sad glistening in his eyes going away.

"He might," said Italy, becoming hopeful. "But what about your field?"

"Hm." America thought for a moment. He turned around and shouted. "Hey, Canadia!"

"I'm right here; no need to yell," said a soft voice nearby.

"Think you could watch the field while I'm gone, bro? I'm gonna get me a brain!"

"Sure thing pal! About time, too."

"Thanks man!" America walked off, giving Italy a thumbs-up.

In reality, America hadn't paid any attention to what Canada had said. Canada knew if he'd said no it wouldn't have mattered, so he let it go. Besides, now he could watch the field in peace and quiet. Of course, peace and quiet didn't exactly scare the crows away. He considered changing his mind, but America and Italy were too far off to hear him, and probably wouldn't pay attention anyway. Canada sighed, feeling sorry for himself.

"Who are you?" said Kumajiro, a bear who'd often visit the field.

"I'm Canada," he said, as usual.

Italy and America were getting along well; discussing elevators and food, and trash-talking British cooking. Italy informed him about France, but America didn't seem fazed.

"Pff!" he scoffed. "Ol' Francy-pants seems bent on picking on everyone smaller than him. Even Britain was able to kick his ass."

"I've always wondered why they fought so much," Italy said in his spacy way.

America grew very red. "They fought over me when I was a kid. I didn't know much about myself then, so I only wanted to be friends with everyone. You're lucky, dude; you're older and you know more about this stuff."

"I'm not much older," Italy sighed. "I've always had somebody else governing me. It's only recently that I started living with Romano again, and not being picked on so much. Besides, you're bigger and stronger. You even beat Britain!"

"That is true," America conceded. "So we can still beat France!"

"Ve!" Italy cried happily.

They continued their walk, soon approaching sparse woodlands and various fruit trees. Italy and America were getting hungry, which wasn't unusual, although America would have much rather had a burger than a peach or an apple, and Italy would have liked a plate of pasta.

As America reached for an especially high peach, a glare shone in his eye. He looked over in the direction it came, seeing a shiny metal man standing perfectly still, and wielding an axe.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

America stared at the metal man. He was frozen solid where he stood, with a firm expression and agitated posture. He looked as though he were tensing, getting ready to defend himself from attack, or about to attack. America took a step closer, staring more intently than ever. He slowly reached his hand out to the metal man.

"America!" Italy called from behind the trees. "I got some food together!"

"Sweet!" America said happily. He turned from the metal man and ran toward Italy, with the promise of food making him forget his unusual find not too far away.

While the ingredients weren't much but wild fruit, Italy had cooked them in such a way that the flavors mixed together into a sweet and slightly salty dish. It served as dinner, but tasted more like dessert. America had a thing for sweets, and even though this dish didn't glow in the dark, he didn't complain. Even if he had, his mouth would have been too full for Italy to understand him.

All too soon, the food was gone and neither of the two had eaten enough to be full. They weren't necessarily hungry anymore, but they certainly still had room. "I wonder if that metal dude has any more grub," America mumbled absentmindedly.

"Metal… dude?" Italy repeated.

"Oh, right, I forgot to tell you. There's some guy in the woods over there made of metal, just standing there. Maybe he rusted or something. And get this—he had an axe!"

"Wow," Italy said.

"C'mon, dude, I'll show ya."

Italy didn't like the sound of a metal man; it sounded scary. But night was closing in, and the animal noises were sounding scary, too. America was disappearing into the woods, and Italy didn't want to be left alone. He hurried after America, holding Pooky close and petting him for some comfort.

"Here he is, dude. He looks like iron or something," America presented. He held out his gloved hand which had straw sticking out.

Italy's heart leaped. "Germany!" he said with a smile.

"Huh?" America looked at the metal man. "Oh, yeah! He does kinda look like Germany, doesn't he?"

"It is him!" Italy cheered. "But… he's just standing there."

"Mmmmmrrrrrrrggg…" Germany mumbled.

"What?" Italy asked. "I can't hear you, Germany."

"Mmmmmrrrrrrrggg!" Germany tried screaming though his metal lips. Still, neither of them understood.

"I got an idea, dude," America's face lit up. A mischievous smile spread across his lips as he reached or Germany's face.

"MMF! MMF! MM!" Germany's muffled cries grew louder, more frightened, as America drew closer.

"Open wide!" America shouted, almost laughing. He gripped the metal jaw with one hand and the metal nose with the other, then yanked them apart.

"Oooooooouuuuuch!" Germany screamed at the top of his lungs. "Verdammt, Amerika! Ich werde dich töten!"

Italy jumped and hid himself behind America. "He used to tell me that a lot; It means 'I'll kill you'." Italy trembled.

"How's he going to kill me, dude?" America said. "He's rusted solid."

Germany growled and strained his arms, but to no avail. They were, as America had said, rusted solid. "If I weren't rusted I would kill you in a heartbeat!" Germany screamed.

"Hey, look," America pointed. "You can talk. Guess how that happened?"

Germany tested his jaw, finding that, although squeaky, was able to open and close. "Alright," he said. "I won't kill you. Can you help me out some more?"

"Sure!" America said. He and Italy set about forcing Germany's limbs to bend against the rust. America had accidentally dented him in his powerful grip when an especially rusted joint was in need of bending, and Germany was visibly in pain.

"Sorry, dude," America would say, straining to free the joint. A long, painful process for Germany left him freely able to move, but occasionally trailing red-brown bits of rust from his knees and elbows. As America twisted and bent Germany's limbs, Italy told him all that had happened.

Even though he was able to, Germany was in far too much pain to move about. Instead, he lay there on the ground, breathing heavily, trying not to yell. Even though he was with friends, he had trained himself to endure torture and out of habit kept himself from screaming. America wiped some stray pieces of straw from his eyes and gently laid Germany against a tree. Italy tore up a peach and fed it to him. His jaw had stopped squeaking now, and when he had finished the peach, Italy tossed the pit away.

"How did you get all rusted, Germany?" asked Italy.

"It was getting cold out," Germany explained through his breaths, which, although heavy, were slowing down to normal. "I was chopping wood for the fire at my house, since I was running low. Then that damn France came by and dumped a bucket of water on me. I braced myself to attack him, but I was moving too slow; the water he'd thrown on me was freezing and rusting me in place."

"Didn't you have a tube of grease or oil or something?" asked America.

"I did; but France stole it."

"What would France want with oil?" America asked.

"Who knows?" Italy responded. "But this means you have to be careful and not get rusted, Germany."

"Ja, I know that," Germany said. He yawned and his jaw squeaked again. America and Italy, after seeing Germany yawn, yawned also.

It had been a long day for all of them, and Italy was the first to fall asleep. Pooky curled up next to him and purred gently until sleep overcame him, too. America lay down. He was tired, and in the process of falling asleep, but had not done so yet. He looked over at Germany, who didn't seem to be resting at all. Rather, he was looking this way and that, as if keeping watch, his glances often lingering on Italy.

"Dude, aren't you going to sleep?" America was usually loud, but in considering Italy's sleeping and Germany's expression, he had taken on his gentler, more serious tone.

"Nein; I'm not very tired."

"This is the first you've laid down in ages, dude. How could you not be tired?"

Germany said nothing; he just looked at Italy, who'd let out a snore. "Ve," Italy whispered in his sleep.

"You know," America had adjusted his position, now lying on his back with his head resting in his hands. "There's still bitterness from all those wars. You'd think that when we'd stopped killing each other, things would go back to normal. Britain used to tell me all kinds of bad things about France, and when France helped me get independence from Britain, he did the same thing. I used to wonder why they did that, even after the wars were over. I think I kinda know now, but it's hard to explain. Once you've built an image in your mind of someone, it's hard to change the image to something better. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

Germany was dumbfounded. He looked at America, who was staring at the stars through the trees.

"You told me you didn't have a brain. Where did that come from?" he asked.

"Insight hardly ever comes from the brain, dude," America said with a smile and a blush. "It comes from the heart. You've got a brain, I'm sure you'd have known that."

Germany sighed and looked down, ashamed. "I haven't got a heart," he admitted quietly. America turned to face him.

"How's that possible?" he asked. He didn't mean anything by it, but his question made Germany even more ashamed.

"If it's possible for you to be without a brain, it's possible for me to be without a heart," he said in an irritated voice.

"Sorry, dude," America said. "I didn't mean… I- I was just…"

Germany didn't say anything. America sat up and moved closer to him, leaning against the tree alongside Germany. "Maybe the wizard we're going to can give you a heart," America offered.

Germany looked up in joyful surprise. "Would he?" he asked. "That would be… that would be wunderbar!"

America tilted his head. "Something I've noticed about you, dude. Your English is really good, but when you get really happy, or really sad, or really angry, you start speaking German."

"What's your point?" Germany asked.

America shrugged. "I don't have one. It's just something I've noticed."

Germany looked back at Italy.

"Hey," America said. Germany turned around. "What do you say we try to get along again? Maybe get rid of the old image?" America smiled and offered Germany his right hand. After a brief moment of shocked hesitation, Germany smiled and shook it. America went back down to lie in his previous spot.

"America," Germany said. "I'd always assumed you'd never… be the first to offer to be friends again. I'd always thought… you were too prideful."

America smiled. "Pride isn't something we're born with; it's something we're taught. It's a part of the brain, and the heart wants friendship more than anything. It's funny; the heart wants what's best without thinking of the consequences for getting it. The brain…" America trailed off, not knowing much about brains.

"The brain is afraid of the consequences," Germany finished. "Often getting in the way of the heart."

America nodded. "With no hearts, we're evil. With no brains, we're stupid."

"We can't win," Germany said with a dismissive smile.

"Get some sleep, dude," America said. "You really need it."

"Who will keep watch?" Germany asked.

"I have a feeling it'll be okay," America said, nodding off.

Germany didn't say anything, but tried to make himself more comfortable against the tree.

It didn't take long for both of them to be sound asleep.


	5. New update every tuesday!

Chapter Five

America woke up first. Like every other day when he woke up, he didn't get up and move around right away. Instead, he lay there for a minute, and looked at the clouds. He hadn't slept outside in a long time, and made up his mind to do so more often. He sighed contentedly. A throaty snore interrupted his tranquility and he looked over in its direction. Italy lay sprawled on his back, but the snore hadn't come from him. Germany was laying on his side as best he could against the tree, and as America watched the two of them sleeping, Germany let out another snore of the same sound. America sat up and kept looking at them. Italy slowly whispered "Ve…" in his sleep two or three times, while Germany choked out an occasional snore. America considered rousing them but decided he would get some food first. He slowly climbed a tree for a few apples and nearly reached a nice, big red one when something black flashed in his eyes.

"Honhonhon…" a quiet laugh whistled in the branches.

"France," America whispered to himself. Slowly and silently, America climbed higher to hear what he was saying.

"Ah, he's so cute. Little Italy… honhonhon…"

America found himself with the confused and creeped out feeling, but was now more than ever worried about his friends. Still, he listened to what France was saying.

"What a surprise he'll have should he come to my house! Quite a pleasant surprise, too! Well, for me. Honhonhon."

America decided he'd heard enough and leapt from his branch onto France.

"Saint merde!" France shrieked. America had lost himself. He didn't remember it later, but he was at it with France. They both hit the ground with a thud, immediately waking Germany, who thought he also heard some kind of _splat_, but wasn't completely sure. America had a wild look in his eyes as he straddled France and repeatedly punched him in the face.

_Left! Right! Left! Right!_ Each blow was followed by another from the other hand.

"Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" France's face was being battered from all sides, something he was well aware of. In an adrenaline rush, he kneed America in his lower back, causing America to temporarily freeze with the pain that spread through him. France shoved him off, making him land and hit his back and head against the tree they'd tumbled out of. France leapt up and quickly made his way to America, who was still in shock from his blow against the bark.

_Squeeakkk!_ The next thing France knew, two thick metal arms had wrapped around his chest. Germany had him held tightly, not intending to let go.

"Unhand me!" France cried with anger.

"Nein!" Germany screamed in his ear.

France gave a mischievous smile and his hat stood straight again. Disgusted, Germany pushed him away, causing him to run face first into another tree. France pushed himself away from it and faced Germany again, who was now standing over Italy, still sound asleep.

America groaned and shook his head. Once he opened his eyes and noticed France still there, his fighting instinct came back in an instant. He lunged for him, aiming for his waist with his shoulders, but France ducked to the side, sending America sailing into a rosebush.

"Honhonhon!" France laughed, pointing. "honhonho- _urk!_" Germany had kicked him in the hat.

France clutched his vital region and fell to the ground. Germany prepared to beat him some more, but France snapped his fingers. _Poof!_ A puff of smoke and the weird smell, and France had disappeared again.

"Filthy Feigling," Germany muttered.

"What does that mean?" America moaned from the rosebush.

"Coward," Germany clarified. He went over and shook Italy awake, and they helped pull America from the bush.

"Are you okay?" Italy asked.

"Yeah, I will be. I'm just a bit sore."

This time, Italy climbed for their food and America sat down to recuperate. While they ate, Germany told Italy what he had slept through, and again admitted his lack of a heart. America set about pulling all of the thorns out of himself and massaging his sore neck. Soon, he felt well enough to continue and they made their way back down the yellow path.

Germany didn't want to abandon his axe, and made a note to use it next time they got into a tangle with France. Italy and America talked as before and led the way, while Germany walked silently behind, clutching his axe and keeping an eye out for France.

"He won't come out when you're ready for him, dude. That's what makes him a coward," America pointed out.

"It doesn't hurt to be prepared," Germany replied.

Pooky seemed to like being inside America's shirt, and America explained to Italy that it was because the straw was warm. So whenever they'd stop to rest for the night, America would pull some straw out and let the cat sleep on it. Pooky also seemed to like Germany, although he didn't sit in his lap the way he did with America or Italy. America said that it was because the metal was cold, and he didn't like it. This was okay with Germany, since he favored dogs anyway.

The path was becoming scarier the more they followed it. The dark came sooner, and the animal noises were louder and closer. Germany had found many edible grasses and herbs, which it was up to Italy to cook. Although they didn't have much but a campfire, Italy's improvised concoctions tasted much better than regular raw fruit. Germany had to keep reminding them to conserve food, in case they found themselves unable to find more, but Italy's and America's stomachs were bottomless pits. It got to the point where Germany would ration what Italy made, then save the rest in his metal torso, which, weird as it was to all of them, was as good as any refrigerator.

They continued on through the woods, hoping they would come out into a clearing soon. They kept their guard up, but knew that France could easily be hiding in the many branches of the thick trees.

"Hey, Germany," Italy murmured after a particularly creepy hoot of an owl. "Do you think there are any dangerous animals out here?"

"Like what kind of animals?" Germany answered. America again noted his tone; what would usually be a gruff, deep voice was replaced what sounded – to America – like the comforting voice of a very close friend.

"I don't know," Italy trembled. "Like a bear, or… or a mountain lion… or a tiger… or a puma… or a snake…"

Germany shook his head, making himself squeak again. "Nein; tigers and lions inhabit very different regions, as do bears. You might find a bear around here, or a mountain lion, but not both. As for snakes, ja, you might find them, but depending on the region we are in it would be hard to say which kind and whether or not they are venomous."

Even though Germany's words gave Italy an iffy answer at best, America could see that they'd given Italy a great deal of comfort; he didn't look as tense as he did when he'd asked, although he stayed close to both of them, walking in between America and Germany.

"Hey, dudes!" America exclaimed, just to break their frightened silence. "There's a rock cave over there. Want to get some shut-eye?"

"Should someone keep watch?" Germany asked.

In reply, America climbed up a tree. He selected a large, thick branch and easily ripped it from the trunk. He dropped down. "We'll be better prepared for him this time. I don't think we'll need to."

"Alright," Germany conceded. They gathered up some wood for a fire, and Germany doled out their rations.

"Oh, man, am I starving," America said. Someone's stomach growled. "I guess you guys are starving, too!" he laughed.

Germany and Italy looked at each other. "Huh?" America said. "That wasn't you guys?"

They shook their heads. America and Germany both jumped up, clutching their weapons tightly. The growl came again, farther down the cave. Without hesitating, they ran to find the source.

They hadn't run far when a small, fuzzy being landed in front of them. America and Germany took a step back as it growled again.

"Guys!" Italy panted, having caught up to them. "Yikes!" he shrieked.

America took action, hitting the thing in the head with his branch. The creature moaned and slumped to the floor. Without a word, the three took hold of the creature and brought it out into better light.

"Romano!" Italy shouted when they'd reached the mouth of the cave.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Owowowowowowowowow…" moaned the hazy Romano. As they looked him over, they saw that Romano was a lion, with a big furry mane that made him look bigger than he was. America, who had seen lions, was unimpressed. This one was tiny, and had hidden in the dark rather than come out to face them. That certainly wasn't a regular lion's style.

As Romano slowly made his was out of his daze, Italy gave him some food and excitedly told him about the storm, the Sealands, France and what they'd been doing so far. He was excited to see his brother, even if he wasn't being his obnoxious self because of a bump on the head. Romano didn't appear to like the story very much, and seemed especially frightened when they mentioned France. This wasn't a surprise to Germany, who had met Romano, but America was perplexed at why someone would be afraid of France.

"He's freaking scary," Romano defended.

America wasn't convinced. "You know France invented parkour; the sport of running away."

"He only runs from big, brave countries like you assholes," Romano spat. "I've got no courage at all. There! I said it!"

"Hey, hey," America tried to console him. "Just admitting that took a lot of courage."

"Oh, shut your fat American mouth!" Romano yelled. "Go choke on a cheeseburger!"

"Maybe we should throw you to France, scaredy-cat!" America yelled back, losing his cool.

It was plain to see Romano trembling, and Italy stepped in.

"Come on, you guys, no fighting, please?" he begged.

"We'll get nowhere by bickering amongst ourselves," Germany added.

"Zip your potato-stench lip!" Romano snapped. "You bastards busted into my cave and beat me on the head and then you expect me to be all nicey-nice and welcoming! That's not what Italians call hospitality!"

Italy took matters into his own hands. "Hug time!" he said, throwing his arms around his brother.

"Damn it, Italy! What is it with you and this stupid hug-therapy crapola?"

Italy didn't answer, he only hugged tighter. Romano still wouldn't give up, and continued to insult the others. Italy, as was the norm when trying to calm Romano, started to realize how hopeless it was and began to tear up. Germany had had enough.

"Beruhigen," Germany commanded. "Calm down."

"And why should I?" Romano demanded.

"Look at your brother," Germany told him. "All he wants is to help you and you insult him and his friends. What kind of attitude is that? We're sorry we hit you like we did; we wouldn't if we had known who you were. Now kindly keep calm and let's just talk."

Romano looked down at Italy, who'd bent over to keep his arms hugged down. Romano sighed. "All right. Where are you guys going, then?"

"We're going to go see a wizard!" Italy proclaimed, happy again. "Oh! Maybe he can help you, Romano! He can give you courage!"

"You… you think so?" Romano asked.

"Si!" Italy replied.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Romano said, with a rare smile.

"We were going to spend the night here," America said sheepishly.

Romano was disappointed; after all, when one wants something badly enough, the worst thing to have to put up with is the anticipation of waiting. However, he understood that they had been travelling for days and didn't begrudge them their well-deserved sleep. Besides, he loved sleep as much as the next guy, and felt he could do with some of it now. "Alright," he said. "Are we starting tomorrow?"

"Si," Italy said. "You can ask for courage, America is asking for a brain, Germany for a heart, and me and Pooky want to go home. Oh, but won't you come with us?"

"Eh, I'll stay here a while," Romano said. "Once I'm brave, I can kick Francey-pants's ass whenever I want, and I'm going to want to do it a few times. Besides, there's bound to be pretty girls where this wizard lives."

"I hadn't thought of that," Italy said, beaming. "Maybe we should enjoy ourselves while we're there, yeah?"

The Italy brothers began to chat, partially in English, partially Italian. The other two couldn't follow, but agreed they'd want to see some sights as well.

"They might have good beer," Germany suggested.

"There's good beer at my place," America bragged.

"Uhh…" Germany wasn't so sure.

"Chill, dude, I like your stuff, too."

Germany smiled politely.

The night waned on, and soon the Italy brothers had enough of talking and slumped down to sleep. They snored almost in unison, and both muttered about pasta in their sleep. Germany and America decided to sleep in shifts, should France come back.

"He won't come out and face us," America reasoned. "And if we keep a sharp eye, he won't even want to be around here in case we go after him. We won't get to knock him around, but at least those two will sleep peacefully."

Germany nodded in agreement, and America volunteered to take first watch. He lay about three feet from Italy, on his side, facing him. America sat down on a rock and snapped a few branches from his tree limb. When it was complete, it would work as well as any baseball bat, something America had been practicing with for years. He sighed and set his weapon down in front of him. He tucked his knees up, only to hear a muffled and discomforted meow. America unzipped his straw-stuffed bomber jacket and released Pooky, whom he'd forgotten was in his jacket.

"Sorry, Pooky," He said. He pulled a handful of straw from the jacket and set it on the ground. The cat lay in it, but didn't go to sleep. Rather, he seemed to be keeping watch like America. America watched the trees as they swayed and swished in the night wind. A serene smile spread across his face as he enjoyed a few moments of quiet. He peered back in the cave at Germany, who'd fallen evidently fallen asleep. Bored, he continued looking at the trees, and petting Pooky. A rustle disturbed his calm and he jumped up. The rustle happened again in a nearby bush, and a furry brown-and-white rabbit scampered out of it, running away from him. He sat back down, peeved at himself for scaring it.

He soon became tired, and, try as he might to stay awake, decided to rouse Germany for his shift. Without a word, Germany took up his axe and sat on the same rock. Pooky followed America inside, but instead of curling up in his jacket, tucked himself under Italy's arm. America, too tired to care about the cat, fell asleep, trusting Germany to wake him should something go wrong. On the rock, Germany felt an odd sensation which he didn't want to mention to the others. He felt as though he were being watched.

Farther west, France stood in his bedroom, looking at a crystal ball. Behind him stood Prussia and Spain, looking over his shoulder into the ball as well. "Germany looks uneasy," noted Spain.

"He might suspect something, but we won't strike tonight. Prussia, have you got birds out there?" asked France.

"Yeah," he said, feeding a sunflower seed to his favorite bird, who sat on his shoulder. "He's providing the view, remember?"

"Right, right," said France. "But they're getting closer. Spain, you can have Romano if I can have Italy."

Spain nodded.

"Prussia, do whatever the hell you want with Germany."

"He's my kid brother; all I'd want to do is drink beer and party."

"Just keep him away from me!" shrieked France.

"Fine, fine," answered Prussia.

"What about America?" asked Spain.

France looked back at the crystal ball and sighed, remembering the seven year's war with Britain and other good times. "Let the birds make nests out of him," France muttered.

Spain and Prussia left, and France placed a black sheet on top of the crystal ball and settled down into bed.

Back at the cave, Germany turned his head to see a tiny yellow bird flying away.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The next morning, Germany roused the Italy brothers and gave them their rations. America scooped up the straw he set out for the cat, put it back in his jacket and wandered the woods a little looking for more food. There wasn't much to be found. As they had travelled along the path, fruit trees became less plentiful, giving way to oak and maple trees, most of which were dead, with leafless branches that had curled inward towards the center of the tree. He was thankful now that Germany had saved some food for days like this, but he still wanted to add to the supply. He looked down, hoping to find some edible grasses. No such luck. Just about everything was trampled on by deer and perhaps the wild rabbits. Hoping for better luck elsewhere, he continued searching through the woods a bit further. For his efforts, he was able to identify a bush of wine berries, which he picked and brought back to the cave. As they walked, Germany and America picked the bad berries from the good, saving the good and tossing the bad.

Germany had had to cut the food allotments, as supplies were running low and they'd just took on another mouth to feed. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have had to do this, but Romano was just as big an eater as Italy. No one was happy about it, but they had to stick it out.

"Besides," said Germany. "We're bound to arrive at the wizard's home soon. He might be able to feed us."

"I guess so," said America. But the thought of a mint green rabbit made America think twice about accepting food from him.

Despite Germany's encouragements, all four of them were well aware of the dwindling supply of food. Only Pooky, who must have been finding mice and birds somewhere, didn't seem to grow any thinner. Even though it had only been a few days, everyone was sure they'd each lost a pound or two. A few mornings later, Germany was forced to hand out the last of the food. Because of the decreased rations, there wasn't much at all. A handful of berries each were given out, and nothing else remained. They'd been travelling slower, resting more often than before, and Germany and America felt more tired than before on their night watches.

"Why doesn't France attack now?" America whispered to Germany after the brothers fell asleep. "We've gotten so much weaker; he'd have the advantage."

"He might be too afraid," Germany whispered back. "But France isn't one to pass up an opportunity like this." His stomach growled, and he clutched at it. Two days without food had been giving them all hunger pains. "The fact that he won't come out in the open leads me to suspect he has a trap laid nearby."

"Do we keep going?" America asked. "He could easily have us surrounded by traps. If we decided to go back, boom. An ambush. If we decided to continue forward, boom. Another ambush."

"What other choice do we have? We'd have to go back for at least three days to get more food from familiar ground, but if we go forward, who knows what we could find. I'll bet we're closer now to the wizard than we think."

"Why do you think that?" America's stomach growled almost louder than he spoke.

"France might suspect that we'd be more likely to succumb to a trap when we've almost reached our destination. We'd be at our weakest when we find a spark of hope and go running to it. We'd have our eyes on the spark rather than the rope he wants us to trip over."

"Huh," America said. "That's really… insightful."

Germany gave a little smile.

"Does this mean it's okay to skip watch tonight?"

"Ja, I suppose so. Awake or asleep, we're in no condition to fight him off."

They were both leaning against separate trees, facing each other. The Italy brothers slept back to back, and were envied by the other two, who were often cold when they slept. It was worse now, with their hunger making the cold weather twice as bad. Without a word, America sat up away from the tree, then lay down on his side with his back facing Germany. Germany, who also hated the cold, hesitantly left his tree and lay down as well, his back pressing against America's.

"Not a word about this to anyone," America whispered as his face grew hot. At first, Germany's metal back felt extremely cold, but as it absorbed America's body heat, it began to reflect it back. This effect, paired with the straw, made them both a great deal warmer, although they were jealous of Romano's fur.

"Not a word," agreed Germany. America removed his glasses, set them a foot away, and went to sleep. Germany caught sight of the yellow bird once more until he, too, fell asleep.

France tried his hardest not to giggle in front of the others as he watched them through his crystal ball. Prussia, on the other hand, was conflicted; he didn't know whether to laugh at his brother or to be mortified. He wouldn't have felt this way if it were Italy Germany was lying next to, but America? Prussia could feel the awkwardness of the situation pulsing out of the crystal ball. Rather than keep watching, he went to the window and whistled through two fingers.

"Hey, don't do that!" France reprimanded. Prussia, however, didn't listen. The view in the crystal ball became a bird's eye view of the forest, flying to the whistler. At the window, the bird alighted on Prussia's extended finger, and Prussia's face appeared in the crystal ball.

"Why'd you do that?" France asked.

Prussia didn't answer. He stretched his arm out the window entirely, and the bird flew off to join its friends in the nests of a nearby pine tree. France sighed and threw the black sheet over the crystal ball. Prussia slipped out the door and France settled into bed.

The growling in his stomach was what woke America up. He held his eyes shut, not wanting to wake, but to no avail. He opened them. Instead of the tree and his glasses being the first thing he saw, he jumped back with a gasp when what greeted his eyes was Germany's sleeping face. It seemed they had both turned over in their sleep, and had slept facing each other for the remainder of the night. America scrambled to grab his glasses and shoved them on. After calming down a bit, he shook Germany awake, trying to push away the feelings of awkwardness that had been nagging at him since the night before. "Wake up dude," he muttered. Germany rose, stretched, and seemed too groggy to remember much. He helped America wake the other two, and they slowly made their way down the path once more.

It was torturous. Each felt that they'd pass out at any moment if they couldn't find a mouthful of food. Germany tried setting the pace for the others, but found he could hardly keep up with himself. He'd been giving the others slightly larger portions than he'd received, knowing that they were used to eating more than him. It was really America, with his absurd, youthful strength, who kept the others going.

Pooky seemed to be the only one enjoying himself. He'd swat at butterflies that passed by, and pounce on mice when he wanted a quick snack. The others were envious, but weren't about to eat the mice he caught. They hadn't travelled far when they came across a massive tree that had fallen and blocked their path. Germany and America took turns at chopping it with the axe. After several painful, sweaty hours, they'd cut through it enough to continue.

What joy had met their eyes! There, towering ahead of them less than a mile away, stood what they were sure to be the wizard's residence. The yellow path cut through a field of red flowers.

"Poppies," America pointed out to no one in particular. "That's where opium comes from."

For the time being, they forgot the rumblings in their middles and hurriedly made their way down the path again. Everyone grinned from ear to ear in anticipation. America, who had been behind them all, stopped dead in his tracks with Germany's voice echoing in his head.

"_Our eyes on the spark of hope rather than the rope he wants us to trip over."_

America very nearly shouted out the warning before Italy toppled over.

"Italy!" he shouted. The others turned back and ran to help him, only to have Romano pass out, as well. "It can't be the flowers," America said. "It has to be hunger; they passed out from hunger."

A tremor in the earth nearby interrupted Germany before he spoke. Five feet away, France materialized from the ground up, as if being lifted from a trap door. Behind him on either side, Prussia and Spain stood with fighting stances. Germany concentrated on France more than Prussia, and squeezed his axe in an iron grip.

Prussia snapped his fingers. From what seemed to be out of nowhere, birds appeared all around America. At all sides he felt straw being pecked out of his arms, his neck, his ears. Trying to fight them off, he looked to Germany, who appeared to be in a trance.

Germany slowly walked toward his brother, axe at his side, with small steps. Spain had made his way over to Romano and Italy. He was closer, so America tackled him. The birds, now a bit confused in all the rush, pecked at Spain and America both. They blindly swung at each other, rarely hitting anything but a never ending sea of yellow feathers.

America's stomach seized with pain. Now almost empty of straw, he slumped to the ground in defeat. "I'm so tired," he thought. Far away, what sounded like an explosion rang through the air. Pink-colored smoke wafted above him, and a metallic clanging followed by grunts of pain plagued his ears. Slowly, though, the sounds grew more and more quiet, more distant, the more he lay there. He was vaguely aware of someone re-stuffing him before he nodded off.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

With a gasp, America snapped his eyes open. "Oh! You're awake!" Italy cried happily. America looked around. Sitting to the left of him were Germany, Italy, and Romano. America smiled at them all and they smiled back.

He stood up and dusted himself off. "What happened?" he asked as they rose to their feet.

Italy was only too happy to tell him. "Miss Hungary made her entrance with a 'Boom!' and beat them down with a frying pan. Germany was under some kind of mind trick."

"Maybe I that's why I couldn't see what was happening," America said. "You know, no brain and all."

"Uh-huh," said Italy.

"I was hallucinating," Germany explained. "What looked to be my brother offering food, shelter and beer turned out to be a trap."

"You know Prussia was really here, don't you?"

"Ja," Germany said. "He just seemed more benign."

"Anyway," Italy continued. "All those birds pulled the stuffing out of you. Hungary woke us up and we helped to put you back together."

"Wow," America said. "Thanks, you guys."

"No problem!" Italy said happily. They all stopped talking and looked to the house, which was now closer than before. They exchanged glances for a brief second, then smiled from ear to ear and broke out in a sprint for the house. Once at the door, America took hold of the giant knocker and knocked on the door. Of its own accord, the door swung open. Entering the foyer, the first thing they noticed was a massive table full of food. Hungry as they were, they were hesitant about eating it until Germany noticed a small card taped to the back of one of the three chairs.

Enjoy!

Needing no further direction, everyone sat down in a chair and messily helped themselves to whatever morsel of food was in their reach. At first, the meal was delightful. Each bite seemed a blessing from the angels above. However, when the pains of hunger had begun to fade, the meal became less delicious. The more they ate, the less they liked it, although America didn't mind as much as the others. Despite the food becoming seemingly less flavored, each person ate until not a bite was left. Italy and Romano still felt they had a little room, but certainly didn't want any more from _this_ house. Satisfied, they leaned back in their chairs and sighed in contentment. _Creak!_ They jumped at the sound of a door opening.

"Why have you three come here?" said a figure who was now standing at the top of the stairs.

"We… uh, we need a little help," said America.

"Why did you come here for help?" asked the figure.

"We were told a wizard lives here," answered Italy.

America stared intently at the figure. Whoever it was, they were dressed head to toe in a hooded mint-green robe with long sleeves. The hood was pulled down in such a way that the entire top half of the face was covered, showing only a pair of lips and a chin. Under the robe, the figure wore what looked to be a turtle neck shirt, or perhaps a scarf which was also mint green. America wondered if this could be the wizard.

"You were told correctly," said the figure.

"Are you the wizard?" Italy asked.

"What do you seek the wizard's help for?" the figure questioned.

"Hey, answer me," Italy grumped.

"If you want help, you answer _my_ questions," the figure barked. "What do you want the wizard's help for?"

"Well, I need help getting home, America needs a brain, Germany needs a heart, and Romano needs courage," Italy explained, pointing to each of them as he spoke.

"And why should you get the help you ask for?"

"We came here to speak to the wizard, not some hooded prober!" Germany exclaimed. "If he chooses to decline our pleas, I wish to hear him say it with my own two ears, not from his cantankerous mouthpiece!"

The figure held back for a moment, then rested his chin in his hand in thought. "Fine," he said. "I will speak with the wizard and let you know if he is willing to see you. In the meantime, go into the rooms to your right. You'll find baths, cloths, polish and anything else you may need to get cleaned up. See that you're presentable enough for the great wizard." He turned sharply and stepped quietly up the stairs, disappearing through the large door he'd come from.

Once he'd left, the four travelers slipped into the room he'd mentioned. As he said, there were baths and cloths, but also things a scarecrow and a metal man would need. As Italy and Romano bathed, America set about repacking himself with newer straw, and Germany oiled his squeaky places. When he'd finished, he selected a can of tin polish and began to polish himself to a shine. America had been wrong about Germany being made of iron. Oh, well.

Italy had finished his bath, but remained in the tub to help Romano shampoo his mane. He changed into a different set of clothes that had been laid out for him, but had to use his old ones when Romano had gotten out of the tub on all fours and shook himself vigorously, spraying Italy with water, hair and shampoo bubbles.

When they'd all sufficiently spruced up, they made their way back to the foyer, where the table had been cleared and new dishes and utensils had been set out.

"Germany, my stomach hurts," moaned Italy.

"Mine, too," Romano complained.

"So does mine," Germany said. "Maybe it was the food. America, do you feel ill as well?"

"No, I'm good," said America.

"Go away!" thundered a voice from the stairs above them.

"What?" they all shouted.

"The wizard says to go away and to not come back!" screamed the figure in green.

"And just who gave you permission to dismiss us?" Germany yelled.

"The wizard himself!" shouted the figure. "Now go away or you will be forcibly removed!"

"I want to hear our dismissal from the wizard myself," Germany angrily insisted.

"No. Go away." With that, the figure huffily stormed away and slammed the door behind him.

Italy had never been more disappointed. Motionless, he stood in the foyer as tears came to his eyes. At the foot of the stairs, the sadness moved him to trembling.

"Italy… are you alright?" Germany asked carefully.

Italy sniffed and trembled a bit more, not wanting to say anything. Out of impulse, Germany placed his arm around Italy. America and Romano followed his example and they soon found themselves in a group hug. Italy stammered through the sobs he'd been trying to hold back. "I… I just really wanted to go… to go home. This was… the only… only… chance I had of going back home." Each pause had been a sniff of a sob, and the others struggled to comfort him.

America wanted to say something but didn't trust himself not to make things worse. Finally, after a few minutes of straining to hold them back, Italy's tear ducts gave way and he began to cry uncontrollably. Blindly, he reached for Germany, but America stepped between them and allowed Italy to cry on his shoulder, rather than let Germany's shoulder rust again. "It's okay, dude," he said as he patted Italy's back.

"We're still here," Germany said. "It's not like you'll be alone."

Italy, rather than speak, kept releasing streams of tears onto America's shoulder. America slowly sat down on a step and Italy followed him down. Sitting on the steps, each of them had a comforting hand on Italy.

"You really want to see him?" a voice behind them asked. They all turned around to face the figure, who had less of a stiff air and more of a sympathetic one. They all stared up at the figure and Italy nodded.

"Come with me, then," said the figure as he led them up the stairs.

Italy smiled and dried his tears as he and the others followed the figure into a long, dark hallway.


	9. Surprise! Christmas double update!

Chapter Nine

Slowly, the four travelers walked down the hallway. They had lost sight of the figure in the dark ahead, but there were no turns in the hall, so it would be difficult to get lost in it. They continued through the dim corridor with Italy holding Romano's hand with one hand and Pooky with the other. Germany clung tightly to his axe and America clenched and unclenched his fists. At long last, they reached a set of two doors. Germany held out his fist, hesitantly debating with himself whether or not to knock. He was halfway to reaching a decision when the doors swung open, revealing a large room with high ceilings, a pedestal in the middle, and tapestries lining the walls. Just about everything in the room was mint green, with the exception of the dark gray floor.

They looked around, confused. Wasn't the wizard supposed to be here? With a clap of thunder and a cloud of green smoke, the mint green rabbit appeared on the pedestal. Although America had a soft spot for rabbits, the immense size of this one terrified him.

"What are you just standing there for?" asked the rabbit in a familiar voice. "Come forward."

Warily, the four of them stepped closer to the rabbit. "You, tin man," the rabbit said.

"Yes?" answered Germany.

"You have come to ask for a heart. Scarecrow, you want a brain." America nodded.

"You want courage, lion," the rabbit thundered. Romano shakily agreed through his shudders.

"And you, Italy want to be returned home."

"Uh-huh." Italy trembled.

"And why should I be bothered to give these things to you?"

No one said anything.

"I said _why?_" the rabbit roared, nearly causing Romano to faint.

"Maybe," said America. "We could work something out."

"How exactly do you mean?" asked the rabbit.

America couldn't believe he was scared of a bunny. "Maybe we could do something for you. You know, like payment."

"Alright," agreed the rabbit. "Make an offer."

"Uh…" America stopped short.

"Then I'll tell you!" he shouted, causing America to leap back. "Bring me the hats of France, the witch of the west."

"Both of them?" shrieked America.

"Both of them!" the rabbit yelled.

"But… but… in order to get it… we'd have to…"

"I don't care if you have to kill him to get them, just get them!"

"Why do you want the hats, anyway?" Germany asked, stepping forward.

"That's none of your business! Bring me the hats, or no deal! Kill him if you have to! And make sure you punch him in the balls before he dies."

"Oh, come on, we have to touch it _twice_?" America whined.

"One more complaint out of you and I'll make you carry the hats in your mouth!"

America shut up immediately.

"If we bring you the hats, you will give each of us what we ask for?" Germany asked.

"Quite so," said the rabbit.

"Very well. I look forward to seeing you after we have completed our task." He whirled around and spread his arms, gesturing the other three to exit the room. They continued down the hall and back into the foyer. The table, which had been empty before, now contained a basket of scones. Despite the aching in their stomachs, presumably from the cooking, Germany took four and placed them in his torso.

Silently, they made their way out the front door. The silence, however, was short lived. "I really, _really_ don't want to touch France's junk," America complained.

"You think we want to?" said Romano. Pooky meowed and Italy petted him.

"I don't even know how to get to France's house," America blustered.

"I know how!" said Italy. "I've visited before."

"How the hell have you visited?" America asked. "I thought you got here because of a tornado."

"I visited him back home," Italy explained. "I figure he'd be around the same place."

"I guess," said America.

With that, Italy led the way. America heard a flutter and a chirp, and looked briefly at a small, yellow bird in the tree.

France gazed into the crystal ball, chuckling to himself. Prussia hung back as usual, leaning against the wall next to a window ready to call back his bird when needed.

"I thought I'd have to trap them to get them to come here," France confessed to Prussia. "But they're just walking toward me."

Prussia remained silent. At that moment, Spain strolled in, nibbling on a churro. He held out one to France, who refused, and one to Prussia. Prussia took both his and the one France turned away, eating one and feeding the other, crumb by crumb, to his other birds who'd fluttered to the windowsill. He broke it into tiny pieces and fed them out of his hand. His favorite, who'd been sitting on his shoulder, ate from Prussia's own churro. France soon got bored of watching through the ball and promptly threw the sheet over it. Spain and Prussia dutifully left the room after Prussia whistled his bird back.

Italy and Romano had fallen asleep. Germany and America, as was their custom, stayed up a while longer to talk.

"You think we'll have to kill him?" America asked.

"I don't know," Germany answered. "But I'm eager for another fight."

America was shocked. "Dude, how can you be so heartless?"

Germany gave him a look. "Oh, yeah, my bad." America corrected himself.

Germany found himself with stomach pains and indigestion, and resolved not to eat any of the scones. During their journey, it was learned that Italy and Romano had similar gastric issues, and of course didn't want their scones, either. America was the odd one out.

Thankfully, the fruit trees along this particular path were plentiful, and Germany made a point of storing lots of food. Still, they felt they still had a long way to go, and it seemed that every five minutes, they had to stop and console Romano, who became overwhelmed with fright. This could sometimes take hours, but the entire process stopped altogether when Germany threatened to leave him behind. When this threat was made, Romano ceased to be terrified and began to spew insults at Germany and America, which they simply shrugged off. However, the energy he got from his nervous anger was enough to keep him going for a while longer.

Three days of this passed, with America and Germany never skipping a watch. Germany was ready for action at any moment with his sharp, powerful axe, and America, although a bit drowsy on his watches, was well prepared with his incredible strength and makeshift baseball bat.

As before, the longer they travelled, the less plentiful fruit trees became. This time, though, they took comfort in that Germany had the foresight to preserve extra rations. On the third day, Italy recognized Frances house, sitting atop a high hill and looking more menacing than he remembered. America twisted his fists around the handle of his bat, tensing his muscles. Germany flexed his joints, making sure they moved correctly, and held tightly to his axe. They continued their walk, slowly approaching the hill, an air of grimness, anger and determination about them. That is, except for Romano. Romano slinked along by himself at the rear of the procession, each shaking step harder to take than the previous one. The last thing he wanted was to be left alone in this scary place, and he didn't doubt that Germany would abandon him in such a manner, so, despite the crippling horror, he pressed on.

"I wish I had courage _now_," said Romano quietly to himself.

"Hey, Germany," Italy said, pointing.

Germany, whose mind had been wandering as he walked, looked up. "What is it, Italy?"

"What is that yellow thing?" Germany looked to where Italy pointed. The others followed his example. Sure enough, a massive cloud of yellow was descending on them from somewhere atop the hill. As it moved closer, they began to recognize it. What looked to be a massive yellow cloud was a flock of birds, birds that they, especially America, knew well and did not want to mess with.

The hoard of birds picked up speed, growing ever closer.

"Run!" hollered Germany. Each man took to his heels, only to be confronted by Spain, Prussia, and France when they turned. In what seemed like slow motion, France thrust his arm forward, pointing to the travelers, and his cohorts advanced. Automatically, Germany and America braced themselves while the Italy brothers trembled.

Italy and Romano backed away a few steps, when, all at once and no longer in slow motion, the gargantuan formation of birds slammed into them from behind.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

The false sense of slow motion disappeared with the blows to everyone's backs from the beaks and claws of the birds. After the initial blast of pain, everything became fast-paced. The predicaments of any other person became lost in a blur of feathers and sharp beaks and claws. America swung his bat wildly, occasionally hearing the squawk from a direct hit. Germany slashed this way and that with his axe, sometimes cutting a bird down, sometimes missing, and sometimes striking a bird with the flat sides of the blade. Pooky, who had separated himself from Italy, was pouncing on birds left and right, swatting them and biting them, but more often than not, jumped on a different one before he'd finished one off. The effect being several wounded birds, but none dead on Pooky's account. Through the dense fog of yellow, America found himself in a tussle with Prussia. He swung his bat just as a bird pulled the thread that held his glove to his sleeve. His hand detached, still clutching the bat, and flew through the air, hitting Prussia square in the face. Despite the blood pouring from his nose, he lunged at America. America kicked and punched as well as he could with one of his hands missing. However, once again he found himself slipping away as the birds picked at his straw.

Germany was hand-to-hand with Spain. He swung his axe this way and that, but in the mass of birds, most of his attacks missed. He raised his axe to his shoulder, preparing to swing again, and stopped.

"Italy," he whispered.

"_Germany!_" Italy shrieked from above.

Germany swiftly turned his head in the direction of Italy's voice. Above his head, France had a hold of Italy. There were birds clinging to his robe and flying him up toward the castle, the effect being that the robe was holding him in the air, mooning Germany. After his momentary distraction by France's ass, Germany's attention shifted back to Italy. Pooky peeked out over Italy's collar.

"Italy!" Germany shouted.

"Germany!" Italy screamed back.

Spain, out of the cluster of birds, tackled Germany, redirecting his attention to the fight. Germany was on the ground, dented and dinged, his thoughts of Italy distracting him constantly. Finally, he gave up. Spain punched him repeatedly, but Germany couldn't feel a thing. He was numb all over, and a slow, cold sensation was creeping over him. A lump formed in his throat as he stared into space, looking to the left and to the right depending on where Spain's punches directed his face. A roar suddenly broke out, and Spain stopped punching. The remaining birds scattered, and Spain was suddenly off of Germany. Still, Germany just lay there.

_It doesn't matter,_ he thought. _It doesn't matter anymore._

He heard the words Romano was shouting, but they didn't register.

"Go shove a churro up your ass and feed it to France! I swear to all that is holy I'll chop your pecker off and replace it with a pencil!" he roared again.

Germany lay on his back looking at the sky, waiting, but for what, he didn't know. Death, perhaps.

"Hey, Tin-can potato," said Romano, standing over Germany.

Germany didn't reply.

"Get your metal ass up! They're gone, and we need to get to my brother."

Again, Germany said nothing.

"Are you just going to lie there like you're dead? Get up! Get up! Get the hell _up!_"

_Leave me alone, _Germany thought._ Leave me alone to…_ to what?

"You should've asked the wizards for a pair of balls instead. Get off your back and help me find America! We still have a chance to help Feliciano, but if you don't get up now he's done for. Please, Germany."

This detail, the fact that Romano had called him 'Germany' rather than some German racial slur, called him back from the void.

"What are we going to do?" Germany asked, trying to tamp down the lump in his throat.

"First, wipe you face," Romano offered him his mane. "It's all wet."

Germany wiped his face and hoped Romano wouldn't say anything more about it. As soon as his face was dry, he and Romano went to find America. Once again, he had been nearly picked clean of his straw. Hurriedly, they repacked him.

Meanwhile, Italy stood trembling in France's presence. "Little Italy," France kept muttering. "New French territory, honhonhon…"

Italy held his cat close, and occasionally Pooky would struggle to get away. Scared as he was, Italy managed to find his voice. "G-Germany won't let you get away with this. H-he'll… he's on his way now, with Romano and… and America."

"I don't think so," France dismissed. "The birds, Spain and Prussia have taken care of them for sure."

France, however, had spoken too soon. Not three seconds after the sentence had left his lips, Spain and Prussia threw themselves through the door, looking very haggard, bruised and bloody.

"Hermano!" Spain cried. "We… the lion… he…"

"You two are useless!" France declared. "Come on, you need to be bandaged."

He strolled toward the door, ushered them out and slammed the door, locking Italy inside. Italy strolled to the window. Looking out, he could tell he was on the ground floor, and could see the drawbridge and the sentry post, which was empty. It occurred to him to escape, but a quick test of his legs through the window showed it was way too thin for him to get out through.

Suddenly, with a shrill meow, Pooky jumped free and leapt out the window, running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

"Pooky!" Italy cried after him.

Pooky paid no attention to Italy. He just ran as quickly as his furry legs would allow him, leaving Italy behind in a dank and rather scary room. Italy shied away from the window and curled up into a ball, pressing his back against the chilly cinderblock wall of the room. "I hope Germany gets here soon," he whispered to himself.

Germany and Romano had just finished stuffing America when Pooky ran through the clearing, howling and meowing like a frightened cat will do. When America approached him, however, he jumped back in the direction that he came. Germany took the hint.

"He wants us to follow him," he declared.

With that, they ran after the cat as he led him to the castle. Once there, Pooky jumped back through the window.

"Pooky!" Italy cried when the cat jumped back into his lap.

"Italy!" they all said upon hearing his voice.

"You guys!" Italy's face appeared in the window. "Germany."

Although they were all smiling, Germany's grin was by far the widest. Very quickly, the smiles faded as Italy grew more frantic.

"You've got to help me get out of here," Italy insisted.

"Okay," America said. "But how?"

"Try your axe, Germany," Italy said.

"I'd have to go around and break the door from the outside," Germany said.

"I don't want to be left alone," Italy whimpered.

"I can stay here," Romano offered.

"Nein; I'll stay here," Germany said. He handed his axe to America. They exchanged short nods, and America grabbed hold of Romano's paw, pulling him along to find the door.

"Summon all of your courage, dude," America told him. "We might run into trouble."

Romano growled like the lion he was and gently pulled his paw away. Rather than running away like he would have done before, he walked alongside America, tensing what muscle he had and preparing for anything.

Germany watched them go, then turned his gaze to Italy. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine; it's just scary in here."

"Don't worry. We'll get you out, and we'll get you home." Germany was surprised at how sad he was to promise that.

"I'll miss you guys when I go back home," Italy muttered. "But maybe I can come back to visit."

"Not without another tornado," said Germany.

"I guess not. Um, Germany?"

"Ja?"

Italy leaned as far as he could through the window, and Germany followed his example. The last thing he saw was Italy's face growing ever closer, and then he shut his eyes. Without sight, he was more vulnerable to feel, and what he felt was warmth on his lips.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Germany and Italy remained as they were, closed off to the world, in what felt like a trance. Although Germany was enjoying himself a bit more than Italy; his lips were cold and tasted like tinfoil. All the same, both were flying high, ignoring the thumping sound that resonated somewhere far away.

_Crash!_ "Um, dudes?"

They jumped apart, startled by America and Romano, who had just broken down the door. "Sorry," America muttered.

"Feliciano," Romano began. "What were y- ouch!" America, in order to shut him up, had smacked him on the head. He nodded at Germany and Italy, grabbed Romano by the mane, and half dragged him out of the room.

Italy turned back to face Germany, unsure of what to do next. "You're safe," Germany assured him. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," Italy said.

Germany slipped away from the window and went around to the front gate, running as though his feet, and the rest of him, were lighter than air. Soon enough, he'd arrived at the room, knowing it by Romano and America, who were standing guard outside.

"Come on, Italy," Germany said. "We still have a job to do."

America returned the axe and tore off a leg from an end table nearby. It would do. Silently, the four of them wandered the halls, looking for France and his infamous hats. Hall after hall they turned, looking in doors, but finding no one. Finally, America spoke.

"Dudes, I think we're lost."

"Ja, America, you're probably right," said Germany.

"France might find us before we find him," America warned as they turned a corner.

"Oui, I think I might." Just as they rounded the corner, they were met by none other than France.

Italy spun on his heels to run away, and was faced by Prussia and Spain, both heavily bandaged, but menacing nonetheless.

America sighed with frustration. "Germany?" he said, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

Germany, somehow understanding what America wanted, nodded and turned around.

It was over in less than a minute. Germany ran forward, first kicking Spain in the nose and knocking Prussia out with the flat of his axe. America beat France savagely with the table leg, punching him in his vital regions just before he passed out. Spain stood up and America clubbed him with the table leg.

Reluctantly, America pulled the hat off of France's head, then squeezed his eyes tight and removed the second hat. Eyes still closed, he kicked France to lie on his stomach. He opened his eyes.

"I guess that's that," Germany said.

"Should we go back to the wizard?" asked America.

"I guess so."

"Alright, then. What should we do with these?" America held up the hats.

"No way are they going in with the food." Germany said.

A noise from behind startled them. They turned around to see France standing up, his back facing them. America held the hats behind his back. After a moment of staggering, France turned around and charged them. They would've braced themselves, but everyone was too disgustedly distracted by France's limp manhood to do anything. America almost began to laugh at the size, but France's tackling him cut him off. America tried to get him off, but France felt like a fleshy mass of wine and cheese, and he simply wasn't budging. Something warm and solid poked America's thigh.

"Ugh!" he shouted. He squirmed back, putting one hand out to Germany for support. He slipped, accidentally hitting Germany in the stomach, popping his torso open. A scone fell out.

In a brief moment, something clicked. His mind racing, America snatched up the scone and grabbed a fistful of France's hair. France's mouth gaped for only a second before he noticed the scone in America's hand. He tried quickly to shut his mouth, but he was a second too late.

"Down the hatch!" America growled.

Whether by choking, or because the scone was just that terrible, France fell to the floor in defeat. Although shaken, no one was really surprised.

Standing up, America dusted himself off, momentarily confused by a warm, wet spot on his pants. He decided to ignore it. He picked the hats back up and addressed the others.

"Looks like it's time to go," he said. The others didn't nod, nor did they say anything, but everyone felt the same way. They felt the relief, the pride and the satisfied fatigue of a difficult job well done.

America tried not to speak too much on the way back. It was difficult, but somehow he was able to listen and watch more than talk. There was no longer any need for watches, but Germany, out of habit, still stayed awake a while longer than the others. Sometimes, Italy was able to stay awake longer than Romano and America and would wait until they fell asleep before he got up and sat next to Germany. In hushed voices, they would talk until they fell asleep.

"We're almost at the wizard's Germany," said Italy one night. "It looks like we'll be back there tomorrow."

"Ja, it would seem so," whispered Germany.

"Finally, Romano gets his courage, America gets a brain, and you get a heart."

Germany sighed contentedly, but didn't say anything.

"I'll be going home," Italy said drowsily.

Germany started slightly as he realized what Italy was saying.

"Italy…" he began.

"Hmm?" Italy was quickly falling asleep.

"Nein, it was nothing." Germany watched as Italy curled up on the ground, snoring only slightly as he slowly fell into a deep sleep.

"Guten nacht," he whispered, patting Italy's shoulder and pushing a stray hair out of his face.

Despite not having any sleep the night before, Germany was wide awake in the morning. He woke the others, and they were in no small hurry to get to the wizard's house.

It didn't take long to get there. If they were running before, they were sprinting when the house was in sight. Clinging tightly to the hats, America threw the door open, almost breaking it, and ran in.

They gasped and panted in the foyer, trying to regain their breath, when the sound of a door slamming above interrupted them. They looked up, and it was evident which door had closed; it was the one atop the stairs, the one which they'd gone through to see the wizard the first time. Forgetting about catching their breath, they raced up the stairs, down the hall, and into the wizard's quarters.

The tapestries on the far wall swayed, despite there being no wind in the room. But the travelers were far too excited to notice.

"Wizard dude!" America called out. "We got the hats, bro!"

The rabbit once again appeared on the pedestal, although much faster and certainly less grand than before.

"Both of them? And you were sure to punch him in the balls?"

"Yes, sir!" Italy happily cried with a salute.

"Very well then. Please place them in front of the pedestal here." The rabbit gestured to the ground in front of it. America spryly walked forward, placing them as directed.

"We did what we had to do. Can I have my brain now?" America felt like he was a little kid again, asking for dessert when he had eaten all of his dinner. His face turned hot, but he collected his nerve again. "And can my friends have what they asked for?" he gestured to the others with his gloved thumb.

"There's no need for me to give you anything," the rabbit answered. "Please be on your way."

Everyone gasped in shock. "What?" shouted Italy. "But- but you _promised!_ You _promised!_" Italy stammered, trying to collect his thoughts while the others tensed in anger.

"Be on your way," the rabbit repeated.

America took a few steps back, his initial plan being to grab Germany's axe and destroy something, but something caught his eye. He looked again. The tapestry had once more swayed. America looked around for windows, but there were none, and they had closed the door behind them, so it was impossible for there to be a draft. As he approached the moving curtain, he heard Italy behind him, still insisting.

"How can you call yourself a great wizard if you're just a liar? You put us through all that and you didn't even hold up your end of the bargain!"

"Yeah," growled Romano. "There are people from my place who don't react so kindly to that."

"I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do for you," the rabbit said. America, now standing right in front of the curtain, gasped. He had heard two voices just speak, with maybe a millisecond's delay between words. Needing no further provocation, he pulled the curtain back.

"I thought it was you," America said with a mildly annoyed little smile. "How've you been, Britain dude?"

"I've been alright. Yourself?" Britain answered.

"What? Britain?" the others shouted.

"That's correct," Britain answered, stepping around America. He was wearing the same mint-green robe, but the hood was down and the sleeves rolled up.

"What up with the dress?" America asked with a chuckle.

Britain glared, but didn't answer.

"More importantly," Germany said, "why haven't you kept your promise?"

"I already told you; there's nothing more I can do for you," Britain explained.

"You haven't done anything," Italy said.

"Well, no. You've done it for yourself."

"How the hell does that work?" asked Romano.

"Look at yourself," Britain explained. "You've gone from coward to courageous. Didn't you help save Germany when your brother was in trouble?"

"I wasn't being brave," Romano protested. "I was still scared."

"You did the right thing _in spite_ of your fear. That's what courage is."

Romano went silent, and slowly realized he was right. Not knowing what else to say, he simply smiled.

"And you, Germany. You've had a heart the whole time."

"What?" Germany asked.

"You're ferocious in battle, no doubt," Britain said. "but all is fair in love and war, and both require equal amounts of heart. You may be metal, but you're certainly not some emotionless robot. Besides, what good would it do to give you a heart when you'd simply give it to someone else?"

Germany looked at the floor as Britain chuckled.

"America."

America looked at Britain, who was smiling at him. It was a smile of pride, as if looking at a great accomplishment.

"Britain?"

"You're stupid," he said simply.

"Hey!"

"You've had a fine brain in your head the whole time, but you chose to ignore it. Remember to contemplate your actions carefully, _before_ you do them. This is what is called wisdom."

America nodded.

"What about me?" Italy asked.

"Yes, Italy, I can take you home, but the spell only works one way. You will most likely not be able to come back. Are you sure you want to go anyway?"

Italy nodded, then turned to face the others. "What will you guys do?" he asked.

"I think I'll teach the Sealands to play baseball," America said. "They'll like that."

"I'm going to go back to that castle," Romano resolved. "Spain and Prussia will most likely be planning something, and I'm going to stop it before it starts."

"And you, Germany?" Italy asked.

"I'm going to miss you," he answered, saying nothing more. A pink mist materialized behind them, and Hungary once again appeared out of it.

"Don't worry," she said. "They'll all be fine." Italy nodded and turned back to Britain.

"Ready?" he asked.

Italy nodded, unable to speak.

"Close your eyes and take a deep breath."

Italy obeyed.

"Now think of your home, and shout at the top of your lungs the first word that comes to mind."

Italy focused his thoughts, held tightly onto Pooky, and took another deep breath.

"PASTA!"

"Hey, hey, take it easy!" shouted Romano.

Italy looked around. He was back in his bedroom, under the covers of his own bed, with Romano standing next to him. Disoriented, he jolted his gaze back and forth, trying to remember exactly what happened. Something tickled his temple. He reached for it, and found it had been a loose thread from a damp cloth on his forehead.

"You've been out for a while," Romano said casually, removing the cloth and dipping it in fresh water. "I accidentally put the wrong kind of mushroom on the pizza we had last night. Let's be more careful about that."

Romano left the room, closing the door behind him. Italy sat up and looked in the direction of his nightstand, where his cellphone lay. He picked it up and punched in a number.

"Hey, Germany?" he said. "Wait 'till I tell you about a crazy dream I had."

**The End**


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